Bright Ribbons
by mickeyrose3
Summary: This story tells the story of the apprenticeship of Darra Thel-Tanis from its uncertain beginnings until her tragic death on Korriban, and shows both the evolution she went through as well as the changes that transpired in her friendships.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please be nice. I just recently read the Jedi Quest books in my brother's collection, and I found myself so enthralled by Darra's character that I had to write a bit of a tribute to her. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy reading this as much as I liked writing it.

Reviews: All feedback would be appreciated, but please do try to be respectful of my feelings. I spent a lot of time on this, so just keep that in mind when you make your comments just as I would keep it in mind when I review your stuff.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you recognize from the Star Wars movies or the Jedi Quest books. However, I do own a pet hamster.

A Glorious Exit

Ever since the day that she had been old enough to crawl around the crèche, Darra Thel-Tanis had possessed one dream: to become a Jedi Knight and serve the Republic as a guardian of peace. She knew that she shared this overpowering, shining ambition with all the other Jedi initiates that resided in the Temple. No one had to tell her this. She just sensed it the way that she did that rain was wet.

Of course, any sentient who wasn't blinder than a dingbat could have spotted the desire blazing in every initiate. It was obvious in the manner in which they carried themselves and the million little things they did to impress any Knight that came to watch their classes. It was apparent in the way they all exchanged endless fantasies in their downtime about the feats they would achieve as they maintained peace and justice in the Republic once they became Padawans and later full-fledged Knights. It was plain in how they all clustered about the hangar bay, plopping down on empty oil tanks and gaping at the starships as the vessels departed into the crowded Coruscanti sky, transporting Jedi on missions all over the galaxy. In all their stares, the thirst they all had to leave the Temple and explore the rest of the Republic was as clear as transparisteel.

Unfortunately, Darra had been taught enough mathematics to comprehend that they all couldn't get what they wanted. Every Jedi initiate had until their thirteenth birthday to be selected as a Padawan. Those who were chosen traveled all over the galaxy, settling disputes and protecting all sorts of beings. Those who were not picked as apprentices were sent to the Agri-Corps. Yes, a person who toiled in the Agri-Corps, raising crops on worlds that had been ravaged by war or a natural disaster, lived an existence as full of service as a Jedi, but the gap between the excitement levels was as great as the distance between the top of a superskytower and the permacrete surface of Coruscant. Once someone had witnessed what they could do with a lightsaber, a hoe wasn't remotely interesting. After somebody had invested hours in learning diplomacy, seeds were uninspiring. Once someone had experienced training in the Force, training in gardening seemed meaningless.

To Darra, it was terribly unfair that anyone should be exposed to the heights they could attain if they were taught how to employ the Force properly only to shove them off into the fields. This notion had been occurring to her more and more frequently lately, and she suspected that it might have something to do with the fact that her thirteenth birthday was only a month away.

"I have one month left," Darra mumbled, fiddling around with a slab of fatty nerf steak that she had no real interest in consuming. Normally, she liked nerf steak, however fatty, but tonight was different. Tonight she didn't feel like eating anything. "One month left to be chosen by someone. Then I get shunted off to the Agri-Corps to water crops and dump manure on plants, which sounds almost as fun as watching paint dry. Actually, I might even have less time. Sometimes the Council has to arrange transport for initiates that aren't accepted as Padawans a week or two before their birthday, so I might have only one or two weeks left, now that I think about it."

"Don't think about it," advised Tru Veld, his slanted silver Teevan eyes somber. Although he had been in the Raging Ronto Clan with her since infancy, they had never been particularly tight before last week. Before last week, she would have turned to her two best friends since childhood, Janalea and Shannah, for consolation, but they had both been chosen as Padawans, and so they couldn't really relate to her concerns. As Tru hadn't been selected as an apprentice yet, he could sympathize with her complaints as her friends couldn't. Although Tru's tendency to voice his thoughts aloud midway through was more than a tad off-putting, he was a compassionate and humorous boy, and Darra was starting to wish that she had taken the time to get to know Tru before now. "It only upsets you, and you're thinking about it isn't doing you any good. Anyway, at least you don't have it as badly as I do. My birthday is in only three weeks."

"Yes, but you've got Ry-Gaul looking at you, and I don't have anyone that seems to be considering at me," she reminded him, an uncharacteristically gloomy expression in her rust-colored eyes. Typically, she was vivacious, but she couldn't be expected to continue displaying her infectious gusto when her dreams were dying slowly with every passing day, siphoning the life out of her.

"Soara Antana is," Tru corrected her through a mouthful of nerf steak. Averting her gaze from this revolting sight, Darra wondered inwardly why all teenage males had to possess all the table manners of a wrathful reek.

"She _was_," amended Darra, shaking her head and bullying herself into nibbling at her supper, because she had to keep up her energy even if it seemed pointless to do so now that she would never become a Jedi. "She was stopping me in the hallways between lessons and asking me about lightsaber techniques. She was watching me like a hawk-bat in lightsaber classes. Now she isn't. She left the Temple four days ago. Obviously, she decided that I wasn't worthy of being her Padawan, and who can blame her? None of the other Knights thought I was worth teaching either." A sigh exploded from her, and she went on in a frustrated tone, "I just wish that I knew what I had done wrong!"

"Maybe you did nothing wrong," Tru suggested softly. "To start a Master-Padawan relationship, both the student and the teacher have to be comfortable with the idea. Perhaps Soara Antana couldn't deal with the prospect of being a Master yet. After all, she was just Knighted. Maybe it had nothing to do with you personally."

"Maybe banthas can fly, too," replied Darra skeptically. Then, she scolded herself mentally. Honestly, Tru was doing the best he could to console her, so the least she could do was demonstrate some appreciation for his efforts. Her face breaking into a wry grin, she apologized, "Tru, I'm sorry. My problem has nothing whatsoever to do with you, so I had no business taking it out on you. These past few days, you've been a real comfort to me, and I thank you for that."

"Maybe we'll be together," Tru remarked.

"Was that intended to make sense?" asked Darra, her grin widening into a smile.

"Maybe we'll be shipped away together," he explained. "If neither of us our chosen, perhaps we'll be dispatched to the same Agri-Corps group, since we'll be leaving at the same time. I'd like it if we were."

"Me too," she agreed. If she had to serve in the Agri-Corps, it would be better to have him beside her than to be alone. Of course, she would have preferred to have him by her side as they went on missions, their lightsabers glowing as they defended the Republic, but she couldn't have all her wishes be fulfilled, as she had discovered the hard way over the past couple of days when the dream she had nourished of becoming Soara Antana's Padawan had been stomped out as easily as if it were a pesky gnatfly in the rectory.

"It could still happen," Tru informed her. Glimpsing her bemused features, he elaborated, "I mean, you could still be chosen. Tomorrow we have the Padawan's tournament for twelve-year-olds, and you're the best at dueling in our age group. Someone might see you fight and decide to take you then."

"Someone might." She nodded her head, but she thought it was a rather frail hope. Still, she reminded herself, it was better than nothing, so she should throw all her energy into the tournament tomorrow. Even if, as the laws that governed probability in this particular universe dictated, nobody decided to accept her as Padawan, at least she would have gone down putting up a tremendous struggle, and sometimes a glorious exit was all a body could demand of oneself.


	2. Chapter 2

The Battle Begins

The next morning, Darra and the other twelve-year-olds assembled in one of the Temple's training rooms to participate in the Tournament, clustering on the mats that covered the center of the chamber. While the participants stretched and meditated to prepare themselves for the imminent competition awaiting them, Knights and younger students arrived, standing along the walls away from the sparring areas or on the raised balcony that ringed the chamber.

As she gazed at the incoming spectators who were settling themselves for a good show, Darra gulped. This was it. Here was her grand opportunity to prove that she was worthy of being a Padawan and later a Knight. It was now or never. This was her chance. There would never be another one, and, if she let this one slip right through her hands, she would be bashing her forehead for her negligence for as long as her life endured.

Normally, Darra didn't mind having an audience when she dueled, because, once the skirmish began, her focus would revert to the battle, not to the beings who happened to be watching it. Now, however, the presence of so many Jedi disconcerted her. If she failed, it would be a thousand times more humiliating to have this many witnesses to her blunder. Be reasonable, she chastised herself a millisecond after this notion occurred to her, if you fail, then it won't really matter how many people see it, since you won't be around the Temple for much longer.

Besides, she added, striving to instill a spark of pre-battle morale into herself, you won't fail. You'll succeed, because you have to. Not only do you have the willpower to win this Tournament, Darra, you have the talent—everyone says that you're the best swordsperson in the year.

Of course, if everybody already was aware of her skill with a lightsaber, it was improbable that another display of it would earn her a position as a Padawan, she observed dryly to herself. Obviously, despite her talent as a fighter, no Jedi wished to accept her as an apprentice, because of some failing of hers that she wasn't even cognizant of possessing….

Yes, it seemed like she would never become a Jedi, but that didn't mean that she couldn't conduct herself like one. Even if she was sent to the Agri-Corps, she would still act with dignity and nobility, as she had been trained to. At the present, that meant calming herself down, focusing on the here and the now, and fighting as best as she could even if she suspected that the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Somehow, this idea fortified her enough to allow her to devote her attention to soothing herself as she had been taught to do since infancy. Shutting her eyes, she took deep, steadying breaths, sucking the air in through one nostril, swirling it around inside her, and then releasing it through the other nostril. Once her respiration adapted this pattern, Darra shifted her attention to her heart and ordered it to reduce the number of beats it made per minute.

She had only finished doing so when the twelve-year-olds' lightsaber teacher, Cin Draligg, strode into the chamber. "Since this year sixteen twelve-year-olds signed up for the Tournament, there will be four rounds," announced Master Draligg once he had walked to the middle of the room, where everyone could see and hear him. "In the first round, everyone who signed up will participate. Everybody in the Tournament will be assigned a partner whom they will duel against. The winners of this duel will be assigned to fight each other in the second round. Similarly, the victors in the second round will combat each other in the third round, and the final two contestants will spar against each other in the fourth. Any questions?"

When all the participants shook their head in negation, he began calling out pupils' names in pairs, indicating who would be dueling with whom and gesturing at the section of mat that each group had been designated.

Reminding herself sternly to maintain her composure and to keep her mind on the present moment, Darra listened for her name. Perhaps thirty seconds later, she heard hers shouted. As she crossed over to the segment of the mat she had been assigned to, Cin Draligg hollered out her opponent's name, and she discovered that her foe was to be the Lurman Kiwatsu Skephos. Automatically, she scrutinized him as he took his position opposite her.

While her limbs moved reflexively into the opening stance of Ataru, the style she employed whenever she could because it afforded her the chance to utilize her agility to her advantage and her foe's detriment, she took inventory of her current enemy's pose. After all, winning a duel was as much about knowing your adversary as it was about knowing yourself, and the leading stance of a warrior was a very revealing trait to those who could analyze its facets properly.

In this instance, her opponent had elected to assume the opening stance of Soresu, which was unusual, since he typically favored Makashi. Obviously, he had decided that since she had rapid reflexes, the best offense against her might be a strong defense. In short then, his tactic would be to remain calm and deflect her assaults, expending as little of his own energy as possible in the process. By doing so, he would hope to wear her down, while he remained comparably fresh. Then, when she was fatigued, he would pounce in for the kill. At any rate, that was the objective of any halfway decent Soresu fighter.

Unfortunately for the Soresu practioner, that strategy was only effective if one could succeed in fending off the foe, and, as immodest as it sounded, Darra moved as swiftly as lightning lancing through the sky during a monsoon on Drongar. Thus, it was entirely possible that Kiwatsu wouldn't be capable of blocking her as well as Soresu required.

When Master Draligg dropped a crimson scarf indicating the opening of the first match, Darra bolted to the side, striking at her adversary from the rear. Unluckily for her, her blade was intercepted in mid-arc by her opponent's glowing lightsaber. Unfazed, she lunged forward, bounding high into the air—higher than he was tall.

Clearly, he recognized that he wasn't going to have nearly enough time to jump, so he settled for blocking her blow by holding his weapon above his head in a classic Soresu maneuver. He suddenly switched forms, streaking forward and making an offensive blow using her own style, probably figuring that he would use surprise to help him.

Darra dodged, leaping backwards before moving forward once more on the offensive, praising the Force for granting her speedy footwork. However, Kiwatsu refused to let that become an obstacle in his path. He twisted to the side, but not quickly enough for her lightsaber still tinged him. No doubt smarting from the hit, he lowered into himself into a crouch. A second later, he vaulted off the ground and used the Force to aid him in achieving a smoother landing as he touched down behind her.

Sadly for him, she was ready, running and swinging at the Lurman's flank. Then, before he could recover, she had moved to his other side and repeated the action before he had the chance to retaliate. This time she attacked with a series of blows, most of which he was able to evade easily.

As soon as she relented her assault slightly, he leapt forward again, but she intercepted him in the air, using the Force as an additional boost to an already high jump. Their blades clashed mid-air, hissing as they came in contact with each other.

When Darra landed, she ran towards him, striking out at his right flank once more. Leaning slightly downwards, she put a great deal of strength into her blade as it pressed down upon his. There was no way for him to escape this grip, at least not logically-- she had the advantage of height and strength. Still, Kiwatsu was a resolute adversary, putting all his might into his lightsaber, tightening his grip around the handle and using all of his strength to try and push hers back.

"Nice game," he gritted.

"Yes, it's even better than an interactive holovid," she agreed. She felt as serene as she always did during strenuous physical activity. In her opinion, endorphins beat glitterstim any day of the week, not that her view on this matter was supported by much evidence, given that she had never tasted the illegal drug.

Her attention was wrenched back to the duel when Kiwatsu's strength finally gave out, and he was unable to move his lightsaber before the blade sliced his muzzle, leaving what was doubtlessly a quite painful burning sensation. He quickly jumped back, attempting to strike at her from below. Oh, no, you don't, thought Darra, launching another barrage of aerial slashes.

Ah, here was the moment. It was time for her to pounce in for the kill. The pulse of triumph reached a mighty crescendo in her ears, and her heart seemed to be beating out only adrenaline as she struck at Kiwatsu from above his head― something that, given his short stature, really wasn't that challenging a feat.

Then, taking advantage of his last desperate attempts to fend off her brutal, never-ceasing assaults, she swung her blade down under the hilt of his lightsaber. Before he could move to dislodge her weapon, she twisted her blade like a gigantic serpent that could be found on any rainforest world. Instantly, Kiwatsu's weapon streamed out of his stunned fingers.

Ensuring that he couldn't snatch it up, Darra kicked the weapon toward the wall, where it would be out of his reach for awhile, since he would not be able to summon the energy to call it with the Force at a time like this. Then, determined to hit him no more if she could avoid it, she brought her lightsaber to rest under his neck.

Since that meant that, in a real duel, he would have been decapitated, the match was hers. Her victory was only confirmed when Master Draligg called across the chamber, "Match to Darra."

As a panting Kiwatsu collected his lightsaber from the floor, Darra, her every cell rejoicing in her success, which proved her worth to anyone that wasn't as blind as a dingbat, leaned back against the wall. Since she had won the battle, she would do well to watch the skirmishes that were still continuing around her. After all, she would have to fight at least one more of the victors, and it would be best to know as much as she could about her opponent's strategy. Forewarned was forearmed, as any halfwit could tell you.

As she reclined against the wall, Darra felt her eyes drawn to the area where the Knights had gathered to watch the training tournament, as though the Knights were magnets and she was a flimsi clip. For a second, her eyes lit upon Soara Antana, whose stocky frame made her visible in any gathering.

At the sight of Soara, a dangerous spark of hope kindled in Darra. What was the Knight doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be on a mission? Was it possible that Soara was still considering whether to take her as an apprentice? If she performed well in the Tournament, would Soara accept her as an apprentice?

Don't lose your focus by getting excited, or you won't do well in the Tournament and you won't be chosen, the rational part of her snapped, and, as Kiwatsu approached her, she seized the opportunity to turn her attention from the hope of becoming a Padawan.

"It was a good fight," she remarked, riveting her rust-colored eyes on Kiwatsu, instead, and grinning merrily at him. "You held your own for awhile, and you had me on the run for a bit. I found the challenge exhilarating. Hopefully, my next match will be as entertaining."

"Thanks. Coming from the best lightsaber fighter in our age group that means something," observed Kiwatsu, his tail flicking about ruefully.

"I'm not the best in the year." Darra's grin expanded into a full-fledged smile. "That's what this Tournament is meant to determine, ferrocrete head."

"You're not the best in our year yet, then," Kiwatsu amended, rolling his eyes. "Soon you will be. The only person who stands a chance of beating you is Anakin Skywalker, and he's apparently too busy creating his own power converter to associate with us."

As many Jedi initiates did when they discussed Anakin, Kiwatsu scowled. As the talented Chosen One, Anakin had attracted a considerable amount of envy from other students. The jealousy that the Jedi pupils harbored for Anakin was probably exacerbated, Darra suspected, by the fact that Anakin often removed himself from the leisure activities that students engaged in during their downtime, as if he could not bear to associate with them any more than necessity demanded. Still, she often chided herself, it wasn't fair that she judge a teenager she hardly knew so hardly. Perhaps he was shy and just enjoyed being alone. Maybe arrogance had nothing to do with isolating himself from the rest of the initiates and Padawans. She should make more effort in trying to know him before she analyzed is character. Of course, now really wasn't the time to be spacing down that lane, because Master Draligg was hollering out who would be confronting whom in the second bout, and Darra had to listen to discover who she would be battling next.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I apologize to anyone who is still reading this story for the long delay. I blame it on lack of inspiration, schoolwork, and soccer practice.

Reviews: Review and you'll earn a complimentary invisible toy lightsaber in the color of your choice. (Hurry, though, or all the red ones will be gone…)

Fighting Until the End

Darra's stomach twisted when she heard she would be fighting Reesa Aeryn, a girl who was taller and stronger than her, who was regarded as one of the best initiates when it came to lightsaber fighting.

Of course Master Draligg would pair her with Reesa. After all, this tournament wouldn't be a challenge for her if she wasn't thrown up against beings who were of about the same skill level, and the Jedi were big on challenging their pupils, so that no student became complacent, as if Darra was going to be arrogant when she was about to get kicked out…

Still, she was grateful that Anakin Skywalker wasn't here, after all. If he were here, then she'd probably be fighting him, and she couldn't bear the humiliation of losing to the Chosen One on top of being thrown out of the Jedi. Sure, Darra didn't consider herself arrogant, but that didn't mean that she relished being embarrassed either.

She was also thankful that she wouldn't have to confront her oldest friends Janalea and Shannah, because both of them were already out of the competition, although Tru was still in, so she still might have to do battle with him. It was good that she appreciated the small gifts that the Force gave her, because she knew that it required more work to be an optimist than to be a pessimist, and she had never been one to take the easy way out.

Reminding herself that she liked challenges, especially in the lightsaber realm, she strode over to the mat where Reesa was waiting for her. When she reached the mat, she activated her weapon and adopted the opening stance of Ataru, just as Reesa had taken the leading position of Shii-Cho.

As soon as Master Draligg signaled the start of the fight, Reesa bounded forward, thrusting at Darra's left leg.

Reflexively, Darra lowered her blade and parried the blow, but did not make an assault herself, deciding to let Reesa tire herself out. Then, when the other teenager had exhausted herself, she would lurch forward and end the duel.

When Darra blocked her move, Reesa merely slid her lightsaber up again and then swung at her opponent from the side. Again, Darra parried, and, again, their lightsabers hissed as they collided. As their weapons locked, she took advantage of the opportunity to step backward. A second after Darra had retreated a few centimeters, Reesa launched her next barrage.

Gritting her teeth even though she had been told on countless occasions that it was bad for them, Darra blocked every blow. At the end of the sequence, Darra noticed that Reesa's speed was flagging, and she grinned. Ah, it was time to end the exercise, then.

Abruptly, Darra streaked forward, jabbing at her foe with her lightsaber, and successfully hitting the other girl's right arm. Gasping in astonishment, Reesa switched her weapon from her right hand to her left.

Good, Darra thought, seeing the reaction that she wanted. Yes, all Jedi were trained to employ both hands during combat, but few were as ambidextrous as Darra was, and most Jedi relied on their right hands far more than their left during battle. From what she had witnessed so far, Reesa was no exception, so a burned right arm would be a major liability for her.

Her blood pounding in her ears, Darra leaped forward and thrust her lightsaber at Reesa's right leg. Reesa moved to block her, but was a shade to slow, and the smell of charred fabric filled their nostrils a fraction of a second later. Wonderful. If she could land just one more blow in a non-vital area, Darra would win the duel.

As Reesa howled in agony, Darra took advantage of her momentary distraction, swinging at her opponent's left knee.

Too late, Reesa realized what she was doing and whipped her blade around to defend herself, as Darra's lightsaber singed her clothes again.

There. That was three taps on non-vital parts. The match was hers, Darra noted, as pleasure deluged her. She was halfway there. If she emerged the victor from two more battles, she would be the winner of the tournament. Sure, that was an awfully big "if," but at the moment, she didn't care. At the moment, she was just elated to win one more duel.

As Master Draligg officially called out that the match was hers, Darra looked at Reesa and flinched. From experience, she knew that even on a practice setting, lightsaber hits left behind nasty burns.

"Sorry about that," she apologized.

"Don't be," grunted Reesa, limping toward the frigid water in the corner that was provided for pupils to rub over their burns. "After all, I would have done the same to you. Injuries like these are meant to happen in practice duels."

"Let me help you, then," Darra insisted, rushing forward and slinging Reesa's arm about her shoulders, so that she was bearing the taller girl's weight.

"Thanks," panted Reesa.

After a lot more grunts and panting, they finally arrived at the corner that contained the cold water. By the time they had reached the water, Master Draligg was calling out the pairs for the next match.

"Good luck with those burns," Darra told Reesa, as she turned to head over to the mat where she would duel against Taro Severin, a burly human boy, who relied on brute strength rather than speed in his fights.

"Good luck not getting too many yourself," Reesa shouted after her.

Smiling at Reesa's encouragement, Darra arrived at the mat she was assigned to. She had time enough to observe that Tru was about to confront an Arkanian girl on the mat beside her--which meant that if they both won, they would be doing battle against each other—before Taro reached the mat and Master Draligg opened the match.

Once the duel had opened, Darra somersaulted forward and twisted down to launch an attack on Taro's flank. His eyes blazing with shock, he pivoted to face her and somehow managed to parry her first strike. After that, their duel fell into a battle rhythm. All of Darra's focus was centered on her skirmish with Taro in general, and his lightsaber in particular.

She devoted herself to slashing in to intercept it repeatedly and to seizing any chances to penetrate her adversary's guard. Her brain disengaged, and her muscles and instincts took over. Her pounding heart provided the cadence for her movements as surely as a drillmaster's commands.

Assault and block. Blow and counterblow. Attack and parry. Advance and retreat. Leap and spin. Slash and evade. Bind and counterbind. Broken time and recovery. Then start again. No pause for thought and no time for any indecision.

Darra had no notion of how long this drama reenacted itself before she somehow slid around her opponent's guard long enough to bring her lightsaber to rest under his chin.

Scowling, Taro powered down his weapon, as Master Draligg hollered, "Match to Darra."

Darra wanted to shout out a compliment on the battle to Taro, but she was deprived the chance to do so when Master Draligg continued, "Darra, step over to Tru's mat. You two can fight for the championship there."

Her feet feeling like they had been replaced by rocks, Darra crossed over to stand across from the Teevan. Force, she didn't want to do this. She had no desire to beat him or be defeated by him. If she beat him, then she might ruin his odds of being selected as a Padawan, and he was her friend, which meant that she couldn't do that to him. Yet, if she did not win, then that would destroy any hope of her becoming an apprentice.

"We'll just do the best we can, and let the Force decide things, won't we?" Tru asked, beaming at her, as though they weren't about to do battle with each other in a fight that may well determine their futures.

Somehow, his words reassured her, though, because they resolved her internal conflict. Essentially, Tru was informing her that he was going to try his best in this fight. He wasn't planning on going easy on her just since he was her buddy. If he wasn't going to treat her with a special tenderness, then she would do the same. It would be just a regular tournament duel, which was stressful enough, but nowhere near as horrible as it had appeared a moment ago.

"I never do less than my best," replied Darra, her lips quirking.

The next second Master Draligg opened the duel, and everything faded into the background, as she devoted herself entirely to the battle.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Well, this is a bit prompter update than last time, so I give myself one bonus point for that. (I have to give myself bonus points, since nobody else will.) However, I will apologize now for the lameness and anticlimaticness, which I will pretend is a word, of Darra's final duel with Tru.

The truth is that not only am I lame at writing action sequences, since an inability to describe action decently is apparently genetic, but I am also running out of ideas for lightsaber fights. As such, I apologize for that in advance, my dear readers, and hope that you'll be brave enough to continue reading this chapter even knowing that.

Reviews: Reviewers get to be chosen as apprentices by invisible Masters. (Assuming that you're human, you can even get the braid, too.)

A Padawan at Last

Within seconds after the sparring match with Tru had started, Darra was locked in battle mode. She didn't notice the sounds of the crowd as they mumbled predictions as to who would win to their neighbors, whispered praise for any well-executed assaults and parries, and gasped whenever either of the combatants made unexpected moves.

When she was in battle mode, all that mattered was the fight. Her galaxy was narrowed to her body and her lightsaber, which became an extension of that, as well as the body and the lightsaber of her foe. All she cared about was blocking blows from her opponent, and launching strikes of her own.

In battle mode, she lost all awareness of time, because time was no longer significant to her. That was why, in her head, the duel with Tru simultaneously seemed to last a lifetime while somehow feeling like it lasted no more than a moment.

If she was in battle mode, then all of her senses were raised to their peak, and she could see things as soon as they happened, and sometimes even before they transpired. That's why when Tru's foot slipped a fraction of a centimeter on the mat that was sticky with the sweat of themselves and their classmates, the Force whispered to her.

It hissed to her that she had an opportunity to end the fight then, and, instinctively placing her trust in the Force, she acted without thinking, pouncing forward and pushing her blade toward his neck.

If Tru had been where he was before he slipped, her weapon would have missed him by a hair's breadth, but since he was still compensating for his skid, her lightsaber was aimed straight at his neck.

Tru's silver eyes, glittering as adrenaline rushed through him, widened as he realized the threat. His flexible Teevan arm swung around in a desperate attempt to deflect her weapon, but it was a nanosecond too late, and her lightsaber glanced across his throat. If she had swung harder and hadn't been using a training weapon, the blow would have been fatal. That meant the duel was over.

As Darra's brain reeled as it always did when fights reached their generally unsatisfactory terminations and she had to rejoin reality as most other sentients knew it, she saw Tru drop his weapon and bow to her in surrender.

"Your best is better than mine, then," he observed, as he rose from his bow. His tone was determinedly optimistic, but his eyes flashed with pain.

Darra's heart went out to him. His neck must be burning as though all the lava on Mustafar was raging around inside it, because even a lightsaber brush there would hurt for several days after even with salve from a medic, and for a few weeks after the flesh there would be extra tender.

Yes, she had wanted to win the tournament, and, intellectually, she had recognized that would entail defeating all of her friends among the apprentices. Of course, she also realized that Jedi of all ages were scorched in sparring matches all the time. Pain made lessons stick so that potentially fatal accidents wouldn't be repeated in a real battle, or that was the theory, anyway.

However, she hadn't just caused Tru physical pain; she had inflicted on him the worst sort of emotional anguish a Jedi initiate could go through. She was the one who had probably killed his chances of being chosen as a Padawan, and she had done so just to save herself. She had been focused on getting to the top, and she had trampled over Tru in the process.

Now, her victory felt hollow. Sure, she was the winner of the tournament, and maybe some Jedi would accept her now. Even if they didn't, at least she had gone out of her training with a bang, but Tru had nothing except a burn to leave the Jedi with, and it was all her fault.

"You're better at me in any classes that involve memorization," she countered, speaking quickly before the hordes of Jedi enveloped them and insisted on analyzing every move of the duel with her and Tru, oblivious to the fact that Tru might want medical attention. "Apart from that, you're better than a lot of people are at lightsaber fighting. Lightsaber fighting is all I have going for me. Still, I'm sorry about this. If we both could have won--"

"It wouldn't have been a duel," Tru interrupted, offering her a smile that was more a grimace, and she noted with a pang of guilt that he was doing more to console her than she was doing to comfort him. "You're my friend, and I don't mind that you won."

Darra was about to reply that this was what made what she had done all the worse, because he was her friend, too. However, the words were sucked out of her mouth when she understood what he meant.

He meant that because he was her friend he did not begrudge her a fair win, and that he was even happy for her, just as she would be if she were in his shoes. They had made a deal to not go easy on each other at the outset of the fight, and he wasn't mad at her for abiding by the terms of that agreement.

Now that she knew that, she could really smile at him, but she was denied a chance to answer him when the masses of Jedi engulfed them. Within seconds, she and Tru were surrounded by different groups of Jedi, all complimenting them on what they had done well and pointing out all their blunders. Trying to follow what everyone was saying to her made her head spin, and she gave up on the idea of attempting to communicate with Tru in the midst of this babble.

When the flock of Jedi around her had finally tired of critiquing her every step and swing, they drifted out of the room, heading off to their evening meditation or dinner in the rectory. As the Jedi who had surrounded her departed at last, Darra looked around for Tru, but didn't see him.

Deciding that he had probably gone down to supper and hearing her own growling stomach insisting quite vehemently that she travel toward the rectory herself, Darra hurried toward the door of the exercise room.

"Wait a moment, Darra." A voice called to her abruptly from the far corner of the chamber. Her heart pounding in surprise because she had thought that she was the last one in here, she pivoted to see Soara Antana striding toward her. "I would like a word with you."

Even though it made her look stupid, Darra couldn't help but staring at the woman as she crossed over to her. In the midst of her lightsaber fights, Darra had forgotten that Soara was present at all. Furthermore, when she had recalled that the Knight had been here in the aftermath of the duels, she had assumed that Soara had lost interest in watching Darra when she didn't see her among the chattering crowd at the end of the tournament.

"You probably have noticed that I've been watching you closely for the past few days," Soara announced as soon as she had reached Darra, opening the exchange with what Darra was coming to regard as the woman's typical bluntness.

In this case, Darra was convinced that probably was the wrong word. She had definitely noticed that Soara was watching her closely, just as she had certainly detected when Soara had ceased observing her. More than that, she had known the implications that Soara's attention or lack thereof could have on her life. Still, in the end, all she responded with was, "I noticed, Master Antana."

"I suspected as much, since initiates usually spot if a Knight is taking interest in them," Soara remarked, deadpan. "That being the case, I surmise that you also detected when I stopped observing you five days ago."

"I heard you had gone on a mission," burst out Darra, oblivious to how many dejarick cards she was revealing, because her knees were like pudding after the exertion of all those duels, and her brain was drowning in questions as she wondered if Soara was still considering her as a candidate for her Padawan. "I—I assumed you didn't want me for your apprentice, because you didn't offer before you left, and nobody, not even the Council, can foresee how long a mission will take. Since my birthday is in a month and students are often sent away before their birthdays, I figured that you knew before you left that it might be your last chance to take me, and that you had decided not to."

The instant the last syllable emerged from her lips, it finally washed over Darra how vulnerable she had made herself with her last comment, and she flushed.

Force, she sounded as if she believed that Soara had entered into some contract with her just because she had watched her and spoken to her in the hallways a few times…Now, Soara would probably be even less inclined to accept her, assuming that Soara was even still considering her…

"I did go on a mission," Soara stated, nodding her head, and Darra barely managed to stifle a sigh of relief that the woman hadn't added to the awkwardness of the scene by responding to everything she had said. That would have increased the humiliation factor of this exchange by about one hundred percent, and that was the last thing Darra needed right now. Well, actually, that wasn't true. Being kicked out of the Temple was the last thing she needed right now, and that would be what would happen if Soara refused to take her as a Padawan, seeing as Darra hadn't received any offers from any Knights who had witnessed the tournament. "At any rate, I went on a mission of sorts. My former Master Sochart Yoshi is currently struggling to negotiate an end to a genocide on Intan, a small planet in the Mid Rim. I thought that he could benefit from my aid. When I arrived there, I saw that he had the situation under control, and I realized that I was wrong to leave the Temple. I realized that I had left the Temple not out of a desire to assist my former Master in a complicated situation that I was genuinely convinced he couldn't handle alone, but out of fear, and it is never a prudent decision to run toward something if all you are doing is fleeing from something else. Well, in this case, I suppose it was someone else I was fleeing from, because I was running from you, Darra."

For a long moment, silence filled the room. Darra didn't know what to say to all of this. She hoped that Soara was headed where she envisioned the woman was with this speech, but she couldn't be positive, and she wasn't about to make an idiot of herself again. Besides, even if she had known how to reply, she wouldn't have been able to do so, because her lips were drier than deserts, and her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

The revelation that the famed warrior Soara Antana could be intimidated by her left her breathless. Without being cognizant of what she was doing, Darra collapsed onto a nearby bench, utterly overwhelmed.

Automatically, her hand clutched a fistful of her copper-gold hair and dragged it toward her mouth. She was about to shove her hair into her mouth when it dawned on her what she was doing, and revulsion deluged her.

Honestly, she thought she had given up that awful nervous reflex years ago, but that obviously wasn't so, and what a perfect time for a relapse it was, just when she needed to impress Soara the most. One thing was certain: the Force undeniably had a malicious sense of humor. After all, even if she hadn't been hoping to impress Soara, her hair was soaked with sweat, and she didn't really want to ingest it all. On the plus side, she reminded herself that touching all that sweat would ensure that she would shower after supper no matter how exhausted she was.

Of course, the fact that her mind was spacing down that lane just showed how much her brain was on autopilot since Soara had admitted not only to feeling fear, but to being intimidated by Darra.

"I didn't know that you could be afraid of anything," she established shakily when it became apparent by Soara's protracted pause that seemed to last an eon that she was expected to respond to the woman's assertion. Trying to find her usual wit, she added, "Even if I had thought that you could be afraid of anything, I wouldn't have imagined that you could be scared of me. I'm skinner than a Neimodian swamp reed, after all."

"Oh, I wasn't so much scared by you personally as I was by what you represented," explained Soara. "To tell you the truth, I was terrified of the idea of having a Padawan. Taking on an apprentice is a tremendous responsibility, and I wasn't confident I was ready for it. After much meditation on the issue, I've decided that I am as prepared as I will ever be. I may be frightened by the prospect, but I can handle it, and if we refused to do anything that intimidated us, we would never go anywhere in life. After all, the unknown is always horrifying. That is why caution is good, but fear is bad. Caution may be a life saver, but fear cripples us. Do you follow me?"

"Yes." Darra nodded eagerly, wanting to show that she was swift on the uptake. Maybe she wasn't as clever as some of her peers, but she wasn't the dumbest person in her age group either. (In her opinion, that honor went to Nic Vi, who was about fifty vibroblades short of an armory and had thigh muscles that were at least two times larger than his brain.)

"Good," pronounced Soara crisply. "Then, you'll understand why it would be a waste for me not to ask you to be my apprentice."

Listening to her, Darra became more and more certain that she was dreaming all of this. If she was, she couldn't go on with this fantasy, for that would only cause her more anguish when she woke up in her sleep couch and discovered that she hadn't even participated in the tournament yet.

Determined to rouse herself from her slumber, she pinched her arm. When she remained where she was, she squeezed the flesh between her fingers more forcefully. This drew an involuntary gasp from her, but she still remained in the same surroundings.

Therefore, this must be real. She must truly have won the tournament, and Soara must be getting ready to formally request for Darra to be her Padawan, and Darra was ruining her own moment of glory by pinching herself so hard that she couldn't control a mumbled "ouch." Well, at least that meant that there was no need for anyone to devote themselves to sabotaging her life, because she was quite capable of doing so on her own, not that she had any rivals any way.

"Darra Thel-Tanis, I would be honored to have you as my Padawan," Soara offered the ritual words, mercifully ignoring Darra's muttered "ouch."

"I would be honored to accept, Master." Through some miracle of the Force, Darra regained enough control over her wits and her muscles to grin as she provided the traditional response.

"Meet me in the Room of One Thousand Fountains at dawn tomorrow, then," ordered Soara brusquely. "Now, I suggest that you head down to the rectory and eat. You look like you need something to restore your energy."

Blood drummed in Darra's ears as she repeated to herself over and over that she was really a Padawan. Numbly, she pushed herself off the bench she had collapsed on earlier and walked toward the exit.

She wouldn't have to leave the Temple forever, after all. Better yet, she would be able to become a Jedi Knight and serve others as she had dreamed of doing ever since she was young enough to know what the Force was. She could already see herself going on exciting missions and fighting actual enemies in lightsaber battles, and nothing could please her more than the knowledge that she wouldn't spend the rest of her life watering plants and spreading manure over them. She couldn't wait to tell Janalea, Shannah, and Tru—no, not Tru.

Telling Tru about her good fortune would be too much like bragging, and it would compel him to smile at her like a friend was intended to do even though his heart was sinking in despair, because he feared that he would never be chosen. After she had been the person who had to choke out happiness for Janalea and Shannah when they came to her with news like this, she couldn't put Tru in that position, she decided as she left the exercise room to scavenge whatever supper she could from the rectory.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Sorry it's so short, especially after a long wait, but soccer season consumes a lot of my time. Hopefully, you'll like it anyway. Feel free to review when you're done reading and make my day.

Food for Thought

"Oh, there you are," Janalea greeted Darra as she placed her tray down on the table across from Janalea and plunked down on the bench next to Shannah. "We wondered where you had gone."

"We thought you might have gone off to take a shower," added Shannah, sipping on her bantha milk.

"But you don't look like you have," Janalea observed, eyeing Darra's sweaty robes and hair and flushed face.

"I haven't," Darra confessed, taking a bite of what the rectory droids called minced raka stew. Personally, she thought as she nibbled on a hunk of animal fat, it would take a forensic test to convince her that the unappetizing brown glump in the metallic bowl before her was a mixture of ground raka, mashed vegetables, and broth, rather than a combination of items found in the sewage and a garbage compactor thrown together to make a meal. The revolting food didn't really matter to her any more, though, because she was a Padawan. She would even eat protein cubes for breakfast every day if it meant she could go on missions. "That doesn't matter. Nothing matters after what just happened to me!"

"Congratulations again on winning the Tournament," Janalea and Shannah chorused simultaneously.

"Winning the Tournament doesn't matter anymore either," Darra declared, unable to prevent herself from bouncing on her seat like an impatient toddler waiting for dessert. "I'm a Padawan now! Now I can't be sent off to the Agri-Corps!"

"That's wonderful," exclaimed Shannah, her quintberry eyes widening with delighted surprise.

"I'm so happy for you," Janalea screamed at the same time, her brown eyes earnest. Luckily, the rectory was so filled with the babble of excited students still discussing the Tournament that nobody stared at the three shrieking girls. "Shannah and I were so worried that we would lose contact with you if you were sent to the Agri-Corps."

"Who chose you?" Shannah asked, regaining her dignity. Of the three friends, she had always been the most serious. Darra had always nursed a strong suspicion that this was because Shannah had bright blonde hair and was determined to prove that, contrary to stereotypical beliefs, she wasn't a ditz.

"Soara Antana." Darra felt as if nothing, not even the stew that smelled like dung, could wipe away her smile as she answered Shannah's question.

"Oh, that makes sense, because I know she was looking at you in classes and everything," remarked Janalea, her mouth stuffed with oakibread that she had dipped in her stew. Apparently, Tru wasn't the only one with table manners that would cause the Snow Demons of Akuria II to blush, after all. Maybe it was a common affliction among starving teenagers of both genders.

"I heard that she left the Temple a few days ago." Frowning, Shannah twirled her Padawan braid around her finger, toying with her hair as she often did when she was puzzling through something.

"She did, but she decided to come back and ask me to be her Padawan," Darra explained, watching Shannah play with her Padawan braid and exhilarated to realize that soon she would have one of her own. A Padawan braid. For so many years, that had symbolized everything she wanted to be, and now she was finally going to have one of her own. The idea alone left her fingers and toes tingling.

Then, a moment later, she felt ashamed of herself. She was bubbling over with excitement, and she had forgotten all about Tru. Chiding herself for not being a good buddy to Tru, she looked around the rectory, trying to find his lanky Teevan form among the dining masses of Jedi. When she couldn't spot him after a moment or two of searching, she inquired of Janalea and Shannah, "Have either of you seen Tru Veld?"

"Yep, he was on his way to the healers with Master Ry-Gaul when I saw him in the corridors," replied Janalea casually, slurping her stew.

"Tru's at the healers?" Darra stuttered, throwing down her spoon and sending drops of stew everywhere. Barely noticing the mess she had made, she leapt to her feet. "I have to see him immediately then. I have to apologize and make sure that he is okay. See you both around."

With that, she raced out of the rectory and down the hallway to the nearest bank of turbolifts, cursing herself for neglecting Tru so much in her elation at becoming a Padawan. So far, based on the way she had forgotten to care for her fellow creatures since she had been chosen as Soara's apprentice, she didn't deserve the honor.

A real Jedi would have checked on her injured friend before going down to supper to receive congratulations on her new rank. Actually, scratch that, a real Jedi would not have sought congratulations at all. Once she had seen Tru, she was going to have to meditate on the importance of compassion and the dangers of arrogance after she showered off the sweat that caked her body and hair.


	6. Chapter 6

As Darra raced into the medical ward at the Temple, she was greeted by a reproving scowl from the female healer behind the desk, who hissed, "You'll wake the patients."

"Sorry, Master," Darra apologized, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment and exertion as she realized that the woman was correct. She stopped running and noted disgustedly that more sweat was pouring down her back now from her mad rush to the medical ward. When she finally got around to taking her much needed shower, it wouldn't be a fun experience. "Do you know where Tru Veld is?"

"He's in the room the farthest down on the left," the healer replied, still wearing her disapproving expression.

Before the woman could ask her what her business was or inform her that Tru wasn't accepting visitors right now, Darra hurried down the hallway, taking care not to run and awaken any patients this time.

When she entered Tru's room, she almost smacked into the chest of a tall, muscular man. "Sorry, Master Gaul," she said, looking up at the person she had almost rammed into. Obviously, she had to stop rushing about like this. It was making her clumsy, and it was getting rather humiliating to keep having to apologize like this. Oh, well, at least she wouldn't get arrogant as long as she kept making an idiot of herself like this.

Then, it occurred to her that maybe she had intruded on something important between Ry-Gaul and Tru, and she stuttered, "Um, I was just going to see Tru, but I could see him later if he's busy."

"I was just leaving." With that, Ry-Gaul turned and left the room.

"He's rather an abrupt man, isn't he?" she remarked once she was certain that the broad man was out of earshot, and, when she said earshot, she meant Jedi earshot, which tended to be a longer range than that of most sentients.

"Yes." Tru shrugged, and Darra was relieved to see that he was capable of that motion. He looked a little paler than usual, leaning against a mound of pillows on the sleep couch, and his arms were covered with bandages and salves. "He's my new Master now, though."

"He's what?" Darra repeated, certain that she had misheard.

"My new Master," answered Tru, offering her a somewhat wan version of his typical sly grin. "While you're at the healers, Darra, you might want to see about getting your ears checked."

"I wouldn't have trouble understanding you if you spoke in complete sentences like most sentients," she volleyed back, sitting in the wooden chair next to his sleep couch. Still not sure that what she had heard him say wasn't a hallucination, she continued more hesitantly, "You're a Padawan."

"Normally that's what happens when a Jedi asks a student to be his apprentice and the student agrees," Tru confirmed, nodding. Then, his eyes shadowed. "Force, Darra, I shouldn't be saying stuff like this—"

"You can say stuff like that all you want," interrupted Darra, "because Soara Antana asked me to be her Padawan after the tournament ended, and I said yes. We're both going to be Padawans, Tru! Neither of us are going to be sent away from the Temple. Both of us are going to become Jedi. We'll be able to go on missions together sometimes—"

"And we'll be able to see each other on the Temple between missions," cut in Tru. "We'll be able to tell each other all about are travels around the galaxy. We'll be able to tell each other all about how we managed to bring peace and justice to worlds torn apart by strife."

"It will be wonderful," Darra murmured, smiling at the bright future they were painting in their minds together. Looking at Tru, some of her excitement was reduced when she saw the bandages coating his arms, and she added, "Are you all right? I came up here to check on you. I would have come up here sooner, but I was busy with Master Soara and everything."

"It's just as well you waited, since it gave Ry-Gaul time to ask me to be his Padawan in private like he wanted to do," Tru informed her. "Oh, and, yes, I am fine. I feel a bit cut up and bruised, but that will be healed soon, and I'm going to be a Padawan. I would take injuries twice as bad as these to be a Padawan, and I couldn't be happier than I am right now."

"Neither could I." Darra's eyes sparkled as she chuckled. "I am sweaty, my muscles are sore, my robes are singed, my hair is a mess, and my cheeks are on fire, but I couldn't be better. I must be insane."

"If you are, it's an endearing sort of insanity," commented Tru, laughing. "I also share that brand of insanity."

"Maybe we should get a group together for group therapy," Darra suggested, convinced that her heart might just break in happiness.

"No, I don't want to recover from my madness." Tru shook his head. Then, he sobered suddenly and demanded uncertainly, "This isn't a dream, is it?"

"If it is, then we're having the same one," replied Darra softly. "That doesn't seem likely, since I pinched myself when Soara asked me to be her apprentice. She must think I'm crazy for doing that, speaking of it."

"It's good to start out a relationship by being honest about yourself," Tru teased.

Darra was about to tell him in no uncertain terms just how lucky he was that he was too battered for her to lob a pillow at him when the healer who had given Darra a hard time in the hallway earlier entered.

"Visiting hours are over," the woman educated Darra sternly. "You'll have to leave now. This boy needs his rest."

"I'm going." Calling the woman a stick-in-the-swamp in her head, Darra followed the healer out of the room. At the threshold, she spun around to wave at Tru, saying, "May the Force be with you. If you're still here tomorrow, I promise I'll find time to drop in to see you sometime before visiting hours end."

Then, she sailed past the glowering healer and exited the medical ward, telling herself that if this was a dream, it was the best one that she had ever had and that she never wanted it to end.


	7. Chapter 7

First Impressions

On a whole, Darra classified herself a morning person, overall, but even she was groggy when she switched off her alarm at four-thirty in the morning so she could meet her new Master in the Room of One Thousand Fountains at dawn. Her mind still dwelling on how she had saved a planet in her dream, she rolled out of her sleep couch and stumbled over to her dresser.

Once she had reached her dresser, she yanked open some drawers and threw on her tunic and robes. Then, she brushed out her medium-length copper-gold hair. As she finished brushing her hair, she realized that now that she was officially a Padawan, she should wear her hair in a braid. The only problem was that she didn't have any ribbons to tie her hair back in. Jedi frowned on things like jewelry and anything that enhanced external beauty, as Jedi should focus on cultivating internal beauty and light. Thus, Darra suspected that she was one of the few girls in the galaxy that could say she didn't even have something to tie her hair back in. Oh well, this afternoon she could buy something to hold it back in. The good thing about Coruscant was that it was rarely difficult to buy what you wanted.

Realizing that she wasn't going to be able to braid her hair, Darra rushed out of her room and hurried down the corridor to the turbolift. She had ten minutes to get to the Room of One Thousand Fountains, and she did not want to be late to meet her Master for their very first lesson. Nothing would make a bad first impression like that would, she thought as she arrived at the turbolift and hit the button for the level where the Room of One Thousand Fountains was, thanking the Force for the fact that nobody else needed to take a turbolift ride this early in the morning. After all, that would have meant delay, and delay was something she couldn't afford right now.

When Darra arrived at the Room of One Thousand Fountains, she saw Soara waiting for her by the entrance, her arms folded over her chest.

"You said to meet you here at dawn, Master," Darra pointed out before Soara could comment. "Dawn isn't a precise time, so I can't really be late."

"A fair point, Padawan," conceded Soara, her hands still on her hips, but her lips quirking upward. "From now on, assume dawn means five o'clock, which would mean that you were two minutes late today."

"Sorry, Master," Darra apologized, thinking that her apprenticeship was going to be a stressful experience if she went through it in constant fear of being two minutes late for anything.

"It doesn't matter," declared Soara briskly, striding off. As Darra raced after her, she continued, "We've wasted enough time as it is, so there is no profit is squandering more on useless apologies."

"I'm sorry, Master," Darra stammered, wondering vaguely how much of her time as an apprentice would be spent stuttering out that phrase.

"Don't apologize for offering too many apologies." Soara stopped walking in a clearing beside a cascading fountain while Darra cringed, realizing how idiotic she sounded.

"No, Master." Shaking her head, Darra contemplated if she had erred yet again. If she had, she might soon be eligible for the Worst Padawan in Galactic History award. At the very least, she would have flawlessly illustrated why nobody had selected her as an apprentice earlier.

"I thought not," answered Soara, unsurprised. "We'll stretch together, then." Gesturing around the quiet spot where green grass had been biologically engineered to grow short and soft like a living, verdant carpet, she added, "We'll do the Salutation together here."

Nodding compliantly, Darra moved to one side of the clearing to provide her Master with more space to perform her exercises. Now was a chance for Darra to show her agility, so that by the end of the lesson Soara wouldn't completely regret taking Darra as her Padawan.

Once she and Darra were separated, Soara began the Salutation to the Force, which was a combination of a physical and meditative exercise that many Jedi opened their days with. Of course, Darra noted dryly to herself, many Jedi didn't start their days at dawn. Managing not to smirk at the notion because that wasn't a quip that she desired to share with her Master, Darra slid into the opening position, her body arched upward.

Her spine didn't protest at first, but when Soara didn't move from that pose for a moment, it cried out that she was straining it and soon it would break on her. Just when she was picturing ways in which she could die when her spine splintered, Soara switched to a deep squat with a leg extended to the rear, and, seizing the opportunity to relieve her screaming back, Darra copied her. After that, Soara stood and repeated the pose, ending on the other leg this time, and, again, Darra mimicked her.

Then, Soara moved onto the next stage of the Salutation, lying upon the soft blades of grass, rolling onto her neck and shoulders, and extending her body skyward with her Padawan following her every step of the way.

Once Soara was satisfied that they had remained in Laser Pose long enough, she planted her hands and feet on the ground as Darra did the same. Together, they pushed themselves upwards and formed their bodies into high, rounded arches.

"Your butt could be higher," Soara remarked, somehow succeeding in eyeing her apprentice critically despite her awkward position.

Gritting her teeth, Darra tried to shove herself into a more acute arch and failed. "I can't, Master," she muttered. About to apologize again, she clamped her lips over the words just in time.

"Don't say that," Soara corrected brusquely. "By saying 'can't' you limit yourself, and a Jedi should never limit herself by choice."

Again, Darra attempted to push herself into a sharper arch and failed in this endeavor. Watching her, Soara instructed, "Every night before you go to bed, I want you to perform the Arch Pose five times. Each time, try to push yourself higher than the previous time. Soon you'll be able to make a more acute arch, even though you may not even recognize that is the case. When you improve in small increments every day, the improvement often goes unnoticed."

"Yes, Master," Darra agreed, not certain that she comprehended the last bit, but also understanding her orders well enough and not wanting to appear like she was five cards short of a deck by confessing her bewilderment.

"Good." Soara offered a crisp nod of satisfaction as they concluded the Salutation exercise. "Now, take out your lightsaber. Let's have a quick practice duel before you have some breakfast and attend your classes."

Obediently, Darra's hand flew to her belt, and she unsheathed her lightsaber while her Master pulled out a training lightsaber as well. They saluted each other with their practice weapons, and then their glowing blades locked. Immediately, Soara launched a series of attacks at Darra's midsection, and her Padawan leapt backwards, her lightsaber flashing rapidly as she struggled to parry every blow. Before she could recover, Soara loosed another barrage, this time at her lower body, and Darra could feel sweat stream down her back as her arm wove a frantic defensive web with her lightsaber.

This pattern of Soara being on the offensive and Darra on the defensive endured for what felt like an eon. Darra could feel her muscles turning to ferrocrete in exhaustion. Normally, she didn't tire this rapidly. Then again, normally she didn't fight against renowned warriors like Soara Antana.

Then, as the salty sweat trickled from her forehead into her eyes, she saw an opening and jumped forward to exploit it. As she lurched forward, Soara's lightsaber burned into her stomach.

Gasping in shock, Darra dropped her lightsaber. No matter how many times a training blade brushed against her, it was still astonishing how much it roasted her nerves. Of course, it was made worse by the fact that one seldom knew when the lightsaber was going to strike or where it was going to land, so there was no opportunity to brace oneself for the agony of the hit. Every time one came, it was a breathtaking experience, and not in a nice way.

"Never drop your lightsaber," Soara rapped out. "A Jedi shouldn't be defenseless without a lightsaber, but your lightsaber is an extension of you, and to lose it is to severely handicap yourself in a conflict."

"I didn't drop my lightsaber on purpose, Master," Darra said, convinced Soara had missed that crucial point, as she sank onto the grass, weary, flushed, sweaty, and smarting from the training lightsaber searing into her stomach.

"I know that," Soara educated her impatiently. "I'm also willing to bet most of my few possessions that if you dropped your lightsaber in a duel it wouldn't be done intentionally, either. It would be an automatic response to pain. Such a response could get you killed in a real duel, Darra. That's why you must train yourself not to drop your lightsaber when you are hit." Seeing Darra open her mouth, she went on, "Yes, I am aware that you don't drop your blade every time you are hit, and that you only do so when you are alarmed, which means that you must also learn to be wary of feints like the one I employed."

"Yes, Master." Darra nodded, feeling as if she were simultaneously floating and sinking in a vast ocean. She could not recall doing so poorly in any lightsaber lesson, and yet she couldn't remember learning so much in such a short amount of time, either. "I'll try to hold onto my weapon at all times, and I'll try to keep a hawkbat eye out for feints."

"As Yoda often states, Padawan, do or do not do—there is no try." Soara's manner was less brusque as she established as much. As Darra got up, she commanded, "Go get breakfast now and see if the healers can put a salve on that burn before you go to class."

Not needing to be told twice, Darra walked away, eager to restore some of her flagging energy with food, and the idea of rubbing a balm over her burn was as appealing to her as an oasis was to a dehydrated man on Tatooine. She was almost at the door when she heard Soara call after her, "Come to my quarters after your classes are over. I have something I would like to give you."

Exhilarated at the prospect of receiving a present when she could count the number of gifts she had been given on one hand, she spun around and exclaimed, "Thank you, Master."

"There is no need to thank me until you have received your gift." Soara's lips quirked upward. "Now, run along."

"Yes, Master." Darra's excitement had swallowed the pain from the lightsaber burn, and she practically skipped off to breakfast.


	8. Chapter 8

Balms

After breakfast, Darra rode the turbolift up to the healers' ward to have some salve put on her burns. As she entered the ward, she nearly ran into Tru, who was on his way out. "You're better then!" she exclaimed, narrowly managing to hop out of Tru's path.

"You're not," remarked Tru, eyeing her singed body and robes. "You're worse."

"That's why I'm here," Darra informed him, her lips twisting wryly. "I need to have some salve put on my burns before classes start."

"Oh, you don't even get to miss lessons." Tru winced sympathetically.

"Neither do you get to miss classes as a result of your battering in the tournament," she reminded him in the interest of fairness.

"Yeah, but I was able to spend the night on a springy sleep couch—"

"An opportunity most sentients would kill for, I'm sure," Darra snickered.

"And I didn't have to endure a dawn session of lightsaber practice with my new Master," finished Tru.

"Jedi Padawans should be too noble to use low blows like that," Darra grumbled, her burns not appreciating Tru's comment at all.

"I'd better go." Tru walked around her and began to hurry down the hallway toward the segment of the Temple where the classrooms were. "If I'm late, Master Ry-Gaul won't be pleased with me, after all."

"If you anger him, he'll just frown at you. Honestly, you have no idea how easy you have it," Darra called after him. She hadn't known how simple and pain-free her life had been until Soara stepped into it, either, because it was sentient nature not to appreciate the wonder that was water until one was trapped on a desert planet with no oasis in sight.

Once Tru had disappeared around the corner, she finally walked into the healers' ward only to be greeted by the woman who had disapproved of her every action in the sick ward yesterday. "Tru Veld just left," she educated Darra shortly, and, if she hadn't known that the woman was this irritable all the time, Darra would have surmised that she wasn't a morning person. "If you're here to see him, you can leave now."

"I'm not here to see him," Darra replied as politely as she could as she decided inwardly that the woman must be blinder than a dingbat. That had to be the only explanation for her not spotting Darra's singed robes and limbs and not concluding why the new Padawan was here. "I'm here to have some salve put on my burns."

"Oh, in that case, see the med droid in Room Three," the woman stated, pointing out the room. "It will give you the lotions you need."

"Thanks for your help," Darra answered, forcing herself to mind her manners, before she headed for the room the woman had indicated, not at all sorry about leaving the irascible female in her wake. When she entered Room Three, she saw that a med droid was inside, organizing bottles of medications in a cabinet.

Its auditory sensors doubtlessly detecting her entry, the med droid swiveled to face her, asking in a metallic voice, "How may I help you?"

"I need some salve for practice lightsaber burns," Darra explained.

"Here you are." The droid removed a bottle from the cabinet and placed it in her hands. "You can take it into the refresher in the corner to have some privacy while you apply it if you like. If you need assistance, just call and I will come in to help you."

Thanking the droid, Darra disappeared into the refresher. Once she had locked the refresher door, she removed her garments and rubbed the cream gingerly over the tender burns that freckled her arms, leg, and stomach. Then, when she was done, she put on her clothing, being careful not to brush against the delicate pink patches on her skin. As soon as she was dressed, she exited the refresher, returned the salve to the med droid, and made her way back to the front desk.

"What can I do for you now?" the woman demanded when Darra approached her again.

"I need a note to give to my teacher explaining that I was in the healers' ward putting a salve on my burns," Darra told her.

Exhaling gustily as though this were an unreasonable request, the woman took out a piece of flimsy and wrote and signed the note Darra had asked for. Once she had done so, she thrust it into Darra's hand with a clipped, "There you are. Run along now."

Glad not to have to deal with the woman again for awhile, Darra raced out of the ward and off to her first class. Throughout the day, she discovered that it was hard to pay attention to what her instructors said, because she was busy contemplating what present her Master intended to give her, and, as a result, she was confident that she didn't learn anything in any of her lessons. When her last class finally ended, she scuttled off to Soara's chambers.

Soara's door flew open less than a moment after her eager apprentice knocked on it, and she gestured for her Padawan to come in. As she entered Soara's living quarters, Darra saw that they were plainly decorated as befit such a blunt and tough Jedi. Remembering that staring was rude, Darra quickly returned her focus to her Master. However, it seemed that she didn't do so fast enough, for Soara announced dryly, "I've never been one for my creature comforts, which is a good thing, since Jedi aren't supposed to have possessions."

"Yes, Master." Darra nodded unenthusiastically, as she had known that Jedi weren't supposed to have possessions ever since she had learned her alphabet.

"Yet, Jedi have their lightsabers, which they treasure almost as much as their lives themselves," continued Soara, appearing to take no notice of her student's waning interest. "By the same token, Padawans have gifts that their Masters give them on their thirteenth birthday, which they tend to value for many years."

"It's not my birthday, Master," Darra commented, nonplussed.

"No, it's not," agreed Soara briskly, "which is why I am not going to give you your traditional thirteenth birthday present now. Still, since you are a Padawan, you need something to hold your hair back. Come." Confused, Darra followed Soara over to a window that looked out over the gleaming spires of Coruscant that were sparkling muja as the day died in streams of purple, scarlet, blue, and pink. Once they reached the window, Soara went on, "Mirrors aren't permitted at the Temple. Do you know why?"

"To discourage vanity," Darra answered readily, since this had been hammered into her skull since infancy, so she would have been slower than a ninko slug not to know that by now. "It's what is on the inside of a Jedi that matters, not what is on the outside."

"Correct." Soara nodded. "However, every Jedi, whether male or female, has moments of vanity. One of mine occurred on a mission to the world of Valuccia when I was fourteen. Valuccia is a small planet populated by rural farmers, and it has no major exports of value. The people of that world, though, have perfected the art of making beautiful ribbons, and, when I was fourteen, as I walked through a marketplace with my Master, I found myself studying the ribbons longingly. I hoped that my Master wouldn't notice my interest, but he did. I thought he would lecture me on how such frivolities were inappropriate in a Jedi Padawan, since I had perfectly fine elastic to hold my braid. Yet, he didn't do that. Instead, he bought me two ribbons to weave into my braid. That night, as I wove the ribbons into my hair, I asked why he had purchased them for me, and he told me that just because a Jedi should dedicate himself or herself to cultivating his or her inner beauty, that didn't mean that a Jedi should avoid all external beauty. He said that he wanted me to have something beautiful in my life to compensate for all the horrors I had seen and would see in the future." Here, Soara paused and stared at Darra somberly before closing, "I want you to have something beautiful, too."

With that, she fished around inside the pocket of her tunic and withdrew two bright ribbons. Darra's throat constricted, and she found that she couldn't reply as Soara began braiding her hair, twisting in the two vibrant ribbons as she did so. As Darra watched the reflection of Soara's dancing fingers in the permaglass window, she stuttered, overcome with gratitude, "Thanks, Master."

"You're welcome." Soara finished braiding her hair and tied it with a simple elastic band. For a moment, Master and Padawan were silent as they stared out the window, examining themselves and each other in the permaglass. Then, Soara remarked, "I never really noticed it before, but we have similar hair colors. That will be useful on undercover missions, for we will be able to pose as mother and daughter easily."

"I'll have to disrespect you a lot, then." Darra smiled.

"I'll have to punish you a lot, in that case," countered Soara.

"We're perfect already, Master." Darra thought that she could put up with many more brutal lightsaber lessons if she and Soara had a lot of times like this. Here was the real balm to practice lightsaber burns.


End file.
